


Media Overkill

by totilott



Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [29]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League International (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Closeted Character, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slurs, look you read the last one you know what we're in for here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23664994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totilott/pseuds/totilott
Summary: The longest day of Booster's life continues.
Relationships: Michael Carter/Ted Kord
Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1282328
Comments: 19
Kudos: 54





	Media Overkill

**06:48 PM (EDT)**

“Ah, not hungry, then? But you'll have something to drink, surely?” 

He’s of medium height, and perceptively lithe and slender, considering how he looks when he’s on the job. He leans forward to scan the refrigerator, his blonde hair becoming almost see-through as a stray beam of sunlight hits it.

“I’m sorry I haven’t any soda at the moment. Tea? Orange juice? Beer?” the man asks in his heavy Australian accent, smiling broadly back at Booster. “You’ll pardon me for saying so, but you look like a fella who could use a beer.”

Booster exhales with a self-conscious smile, his fingers intertwined in his lap. “A beer would be good, yeah. Thank you.”

The man who introduced himself unhesitatingly with his real name, Hugh Dawkins, hands him a can labeled Tooheys, and sits down opposite him with a glass of orange juice and a plate of eggs on toast for himself. The early morning heat is already sweltering, and the every time the table fan veers away, Booster feels like he's being burned alive in that little kitchen.

"Sorry for intruding on your breakfast," Booster murmurs, cradling the can in his hands, welcome coolness against his skin. It's been something like eleven hours since he had his own breakfast, groggily reading through a glossy magazine when his world came crashing down on him. It feels like decades. 

"No worries, nice to have some company. " Hugh replies brightly, biting into his toast and chewing in silence for a moment. "So -- what can I do for you, Booster?”

“Like I said on the phone, I --” Booster clears his throat, self-conscious. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Fine long way to come for a talk,” Hugh remarks. Over his shoulder there's a framed photo of him, or rather the Tasmanian Devil: A hulking wolf-like creature with a patch of white fur on his chest in the shape of a T. His dark lips are drawn back, displaying long razor sharp teeth, as he's humbly being awarded a medal by the Queen of England.

“Not so bad, with a League teleporter in Sydney,” Booster admits, his eyes resting on the photo. “And you know, I was kinda... surprised at how easy you were to find.”

“There was a time I was very careful about my identity, you know." Hugh shrugs, looking away for a moment. "'Course, it wasn't so tough when people only see a huge fanged furry fella when I'm on the clock. No need for a mask or anything. These days I’m.... not so particular.”

“So that isn’t an issue at all? That people know you’re Tasmanian Devil?” It feels weird, almost insincere, to chat with him like this when this morning Booster hadn’t even heard of him. He tries to hide his discomfort behind a friendly smile as he circles the issue he wants to talk about.

“Was more of an issue in America,” Hugh concedes, taking a sip of his juice. “More peculiars over there." He snorts, like he said something funny. "More villain peculiars, anyway.” 

“Hm.” Booster takes a sip of his can. Will _he_ have to emigrate if he comes clean? Settle in some obscure country and start anew? 

"But how are the girls?"

Booster blinks, looking up at him. "What girls?"

"Well, last time I saw them in person they were still calling themselves Green Flame and Icemaiden," Hugh winks, waiting for Booster to connect the dots.

"Green Fl--?" Booster sits up, realizing. "You mean Fire and Ice?" Before his time, though now he's heard their old hero names out loud he realizes he knew about them, somehow.

"Those the ones. We tried keeping in touch, but it's --" Hugh waves a hand, smiling. "It's been a while."

"They're fine. Um. Yeah. Doing good, I think. I --" Booster feels a flush of guilt, because he hasn't really seen them for months and months, outside of the rescue in Kahndaq, when Booster was skipping in and out of consciousness. Tora who even wanted to bake him something when he visited, and he hasn't. And he probably can't, after this affair is done. Praxis burning all his bridges for him. "You, um -- You used to work together?"

"Sure, we were in the Global Guardians. Great crew." Hugh sits up, a light in his eyes Booster hasn't seen before. The lithe man grins, pursing his lips to say something, but he hesitates with a self-conscious smile. "I mean --" Then he sits back, a little deflated. "Truth is, you know, I was about to leave the team for greener pastures when... things took a wrong turn. Didn't expect anyone to stick up for me after I'd bailed, that's for sure." He taps his short fingernails against his glass of juice. "But those two tried their best."

"They did?"

"Worked their asses off to get me back on the team, but --" Hugh smirks, looking down at his breakfast. "Stronger voices prevailed."

They sit in silence in the little kitchen, the only sound the whir of the table fan moving back and forth between them. Booster can't help thinking back to a day in a water-soaked Embassy, letting his friends know he was quitting. That he would trade up, or so he thought at the time. Eager to form a team that in the end will be what disgraces him and ruins him for good. 

What kind of goodwill could he have among the members of the League now? What Hugh intended to do, Booster did months ago.

Always abandoning people who care about him. Booster regards the slender man opposite him at the kitchen table. _I must deserve this more than he ever did._

"Anyway," Hugh squints an eye, chuckling self-consciously. “Sorry, didn't mean to get lost in my own head. Not many people from abroad reaching out to me these days. Only reporters, or -- occasionally there are young people. You know." He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Hoping for some sort of sage advice from me.” 

Booster glances quickly up at him, knowing the embarrassment is written on his face. “And do you?” Booster tries to offer an apologetic smile as Hugh looks up at him. “Um. Have... any advice for them?”

Hugh raises his eyebrows imperceptibly, smiling too, but a smile edged by pity. He sighs. “Look. It’s like -- Well. The way it plays out is, they call me, or write me or see me, and they say, ‘Taz, I read somewhere or I remember that... You once took a tumble into a ravine’.” He leans forwards in his chair, elbows resting on the kitchen table. “They go, ’Now _I’m_ planning on falling into a ravine of my own, or I’ve just been pushed off the edge and can’t see the ground below yet. I need you to tell me how my tumble is gonna work out for me’.”

Booster chuckles weakly.

“You see?” Hugh looks up at him with kind eyes, that same strange smile at the edges of his mouth. “All I can do is tell them, ‘Look, mate, I’d love to have an answer for you, I really would, but I don't know. Of course I don't. I’m not some kind of expert, I’m just the sorry fella who tumbled down where more people could see me fall’.”

Booster presses his lips together, gaze resting on his hands. That aching hole in his chest just grew a lot bigger. “Yeah, I -- Of course. I should have figured.” Stupid, naive Booster, hoping his journey here would make it all clear, that the wise hermit at the end of his pilgrimage would open his eyes. He takes an unsteady breath, trying to hide his disappointment. Because he hasn't _earned_ to be disappointed; he just showed up, distraught and rude. “I, um -- I take it from your example it’s... Not something you would recommend. If someone like that still had a choice.”

Hugh sighs softly, leaning back, like he's used to this conversation. “You would like me to tell you what to do, Booster, and I can't. Because I really don't know what's best for -- for _anyone_ who comes asking." His voice is gentle, his brow knotted in sympathetic concern. "The only thing I can offer is my own experience. And most of it happened back in '85, so God knows what --"

"So you think --" Booster leans forward in his seat, clutching at every promising lead with both hands. "Sorry. Um, you -- You do think things might have changed?" Just a little bit. Just enough.

There's a pause as Hugh looks at him, blinking. Then he sighs, pressing his lips together. "I don't know. Booster, that's my point." He takes a sip of his juice, offering a weak smile. "I'm barely part of that world anymore, so things might be different or they might be exactly the same. You probably have a better clue than me."

_I don't, that's the problem._

_Or maybe I do, and that's why I feel so... helpless._

“I just keep -- keep hoping things might have changed,” Booster mutters, glancing out at the wide, sunlit hill outside the window. “That this time it could be different.”

“We all do, Booster,” Hugh tells him gently. “That's what was on my mind back in '85, too. Whatever you do, or anyone does, you can be sure there are people watching, hoping it’ll work out this time.”

Even in here, alone, they so easily slip into code, into subtlety and hints.

It's crazy. What are they afraid of in here, in a small bungalow in Australia? Booster draws breath, wanting to say what he wants to say, speak out without filtering himself. He sits up, meeting Hugh’s eyes. “So do you regret it, coming out as gay?”

Hugh blinks, like it’s a question he’s hasn't pondered in a long while. “I used to regret it,” he murmurs, looking down at his half-finished toast. “Sure. Bitterly regret it. Shed my fair share of tears about it, years ago.”

It’s still such a bizarre, unnatural notion to Booster, that he lives in an age where letting people know who you are can be this dangerous, this catastrophic. He leans forward in his seat, a faint glimmer of hope at Hugh using the past tense. “But not anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Hugh sighs, meeting Booster's gaze. “It’s not like I got anywhere crying. But it was.... a process. You know? All my plans unfeasible, hell, _impossible,_ from one moment to the next, and the embarrassment of moving back to Australia with my tail between my legs, hiding away. And Timothy, he -- “ He pauses, exhaling through his nose. “It took me a few years of feeling sorry for myself until I found the courage to even return to the hero biz.”

“But things are -- I mean, seems you’re content with your life now,” Booster replies hesitatingly, something like a nervous plea in his voice.

Hugh snorts softly. “It’s the only one I’ve got.” Taking another sip, he continues: “Probably helps that Australia isn’t exactly brimming with superheroes. People here are... fond of me, for the most part. Hell, almost protective, you know?" He smirks. "There are people who can't stand the sight of me who are still offended at the U.S. for turning me out.”

“But would you have done things differently, if you could do them over?” Booster persists, feeling keenly that there’s no tucked-away community he can flee back to. No safety net waiting for him. “Like, I guess -- What if you’d lied? Denied it. Knowing what you do now, would you have considered that? _Did_ you consider that?”

Hugh gives him a look. “It's no use imagining what could have been, Booster. Good or bad, never do that. That’ll tear you down faster than your enemies ever could.” He sighs, his face softening a little. "And of course I considered it. As I was standing up on that podium introducing myself, I was still considering it. I don't know what difference it would have made, with the pictures ready to print, but --" He pauses and shrugs. "Like I said, you don't get anywhere guessing what could have been."

“No, but --” Booster leans forward in his seat, interlocking his fingers in frustration. He knows how rude he is being, how clumsy his questions are, how obvious his intent is. And he's ashamed. “I need to know if -- Fuck, just --“ His voice wavers and his body feels tight with anxiety. Finally a miserable, sharp groan of misery escapes him, and he hides his face in his hands. “I don’t know what to do! I need -- I just need someone to tell me what to _do.”_

Booster hears the sound of Hugh placing his glass on the table, and then he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“It’s rotten business,” Hugh tells him softly. “I’m sorry.”

That tiny morsel of kindness seems to resonate dramatically with something inside Booster, because he sucks in air, aware of the tears pressing between his closed eyelids, dripping down against the inside of his goggles. “Fuck," he whimpers, trying to stop himself from coming apart, but he shudders, the feelings inside him coming like a tidal wave. "We’re -- Jesus, we’re _heroes!"_ he argues, not with Hugh but with the world at large. "And the -- they want me to _lie_ to them! They'll hate me if I don't lie, and if they find out I lied they'll hate me _more."_

This stupid world, this stupid century, hating him all along. Waiting for the perfect chance to show him exactly how much they've hated him, not as a hero but as a person. Who he _is,_ even when he's not wearing the costume, when he's not flying through the sky. All a shiny veneer to try and distract them, make them... Trick them into loving him. And it didn't work. It didn't work at all.

He tries covering his mouth with his hand, like that'll stop himself crying, like that will calm him down. Instead he gasps for air, breathing and sobbing harder. "It's like we're -- I'm, ah. Look, I know I'm not perfect. I've done, um, terrible things before. I've, I've _lied_ before, but I -- I _knew_ those things were bad -- that _I_ was bad. I just don't understand how the worst fucking thing I ever did was -- being what I have been all along. That, that everybody could hate me for falling in love with someone."

"I'm sorry," Hugh tells him again.

Booster takes a deep uneven breath and sits up, pushing up his goggles to wipe his eyes with a rough hand. "Jesus Christ. I'm so sorry. A fucking stranger just knocking on your door to -- to cry hysterically into your beer. Fuck, I'm sorry."

"No worries," Hugh quickly interjects, exhaling softly. "Just get it out, mate. S'good for you."

Booster tilts his head back and breathes in deeply, blinking at the ceiling to stop the tears from coming. "Christ, I --" He clears his throat. "I think... I mean -- That's how it is, isn't it? Whatever I do, I'm still -- Me. I've been what I am all along, and what the world thinks or don't think, it's... Part of the game, isn't it? Part of the con." He tries to put on a smile but it must look more like a sneer. "I've done worse. And this is -- It's none of their business anyway! I didn't make this choice, fucking.... _Praxis_ did, and anything I do is not -- I mean, me denying it, it would be nothing compared to him doing this to me. Whatever I say or _don't_ say, there's no way I'm the bad guy here. Not more than I've been before."

Hugh nods, though he doesn't understand. Doesn't know Booster's past, how he ended his football career by cheating, and started his hero career by stealing and running away. Deep down Booster knows he's a crook and a fraud, but he's trying to pay a little bit of that debt every day through his work. If he's denied that work, it would all have been for nothing. Just another thief, another liar. Praxis refusing him to make up for the things he did -- That can't be right, can it? That's not how it's supposed to work.

If by lying, Booster can continue to do good things, then in this case, lying must also be a good thing to do. A little sacrifice, another little con in his series of cons, tiny in the scope of things. Another thing to make up for, as long as he's able to make up for them.

And that's just himself.

Telling a lie to protect Ted can't be criminal. It can't be bad at all.

Booster's train of thought is interrupted by a thin, insistent beeping, and for a wild moment he imagines a bomb’s about to go off, set off by his emotions, his racing heart earlier. Then he recognizes it as coming from the pager hanging off his belt.

Is this it? Claire must have a solution, she must be calling him to tell him they can all figure this out. He fumbles at his belt, unhooking the small plastic gadget, and looks at the series of numbers.

No. Not Claire. Not her number. Booster recgonizes it immediately.

“Need to make a call?” Hugh ask, sitting back.

“I don’t know,” Booster mutters, wiping his eyes under his goggles and frowning down at the beeper. He glances automatically up at the gray telephone hanging on the wall. “Anyway it's not like I could -- Um, I guess I should get back already.” He starts awkwardly getting to his feet, hating the feeling of tears trapped along the bottom edge of his goggles.

“Bloody oath, just use my telephone, Booster!” Hugh tells him, somewhat forcefully. “Go on.”

“It's to New York. Do you know what that’ll cost you?” Booster rubs his neck. "I guess I could, um... Transfer you the money when I get back there, and --"

Hugh grins, gesturing to the phone. “Just call, Booster. No charge. I insist.”

Booster exhales with a grateful and embarrassed smile. “Thank you.” He makes his way over to the slate gray phone hanging on the wall, lifting off the receiver. And he stares at the buttons. “Um. Sorry. What’s the -- How do I call New York?”

“Should be in my notebook there.”

Sure enough, on a nail next to the phone hangs a small, dogeared notebook, and Booster finds a list of country codes written neatly in ballpoint pen. He presses the daunting string of numbers before entering the much more familiar number to the New York Embassy. Tries not to think what new catastrophe might have induced someone in the League to call his beeper, whether it's Ted or Max, or maybe even Guy wanting to crow some more.

The signal chimes in his ear. Who does he even ask for when they answer?

 _“Hello -- Justice League,”_ the voice crackles far away.

“Hi, I was -- I’m -- Um,” Booster stutters, even more disoriented by the fact that he can't tell who he is speaking to. “This is Booster.”

 _“Booster!”_ the voice at the other end exclaims softly. _“I’m sorry.”_

“What? What’s going on?” Booster swallows, a cold, prickly tension winding up inside him. Something’s happened. Something terrible must have happened, and he's on the other side of the globe. “Sorry, the line is -- I can’t hear you very good. Who is this? What’s happened?”

 _“Nothing’s happened. Nothing’s happened at all,”_ the voice tells him earnestly. _“I’m sorry, uh -- This is Ted.”_ He clears his voice, continuing lower: _“This is Beetle.”_

“Ted.” It comes out like a sigh, and Booster wants to feel relieved, but considering how they parted he feels a lump of anxiety in his lower stomach, like this could be it. The private defeat before the public one.

_“Where are you?”_

“I’m, um, in Australia,” Booster mutters, hearing how ridiculous it sounds on a day like this.

_"Australia?!"_

“A place called Campbelltown. I’m costing a very nice guy a lot of money calling, so, um --” He looks up at Hugh, who makes a face and waves him off dismissively. “What did you want to say?”

 _“Just I -- I --”_ Ted stutters, the line crackling all the while. _“I, uh. I take it back. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”_

Booster frowns at the wall in front of him, cradling the telephone closer. “Take what back?”

There’s a pause, and out of the corner of his eye Booster sees Hugh walk leisurely into the next room, and soon there’s voices coming from a TV. A flush of gratefulness warms Booster's chest. Hugh offering him, a stranger, this kind of privacy in his own home.

_"You won't lose me."_

Booster swallows. "What?"

 _“You won’t lose me,"_ Ted tells him slower, earnestly. _“If you tell them, you won’t lose me. I don’t know what will happen at all, but I -- I.... I’ll weather it too. I don’t know how, but I just --"_ Ted sighs, frustrated. _"I kept thinking about the things I said to you. I’m sorry, I was panicking. Actually, I think I’m still panicking, but, uh -- but I realized I can’t just walk away when you’re --”_

“Ted, please don’t worry, okay?” Booster murmurs with as much conviction he can muster. Wanting to say the things he would rather hear himself. “It's okay. We’ll figure it out.”

 _“Yeah. That’s right,”_ Ted replies, a little strained. _“We’ll figure it out."_

There's a pause.

When Ted speaks again, his voice is low and indistinct. _"And I... I want to tell you, uh, I --"_ His hushed words are lost in a crackle and hiss on the line.

"Sorry, what?"

More crackling.

"I can't hear a thing, Ted."

 _"I love you!"_ Ted exclaims loudly. _"Oh fuck --"_ he mutters, embarrassed, and then his voice gets even more muffled as he says something away from the phone.

Everything is simultaneously very still and very loud inside Booster. He holds his breath, staring wide-eyed at the floral wallpaper in front of his face. There are more voices in the background on the line, and Booster curls his free hand around the receiver too, like he wants to protect it, and he waits. Wondering if he imagined what he just heard.

Ted saying those words. To _him._

 _"Jeez,"_ Ted breathes once he returns to the line. _"A-Are you still there, uh -- aunt Freida?"_

Booster giggles strangely, though he feels closer to crying. "Not alone, huh?"

 _"Green Lantern says hi,"_ Ted tells him stiffly. He must be in the comm room, the safest bet in the Embassy if you want to be the first to answer the phone. Most days on monitor duty you can sit there for hours without seeing anyone, but it's not like you can't stop people from wandering in, either.

"I love you too, Teddy." The words leave his lips, and it feels like he'll burst. Considering all the emotions he's felt today, he didn't know this type, this _genre_ of emotions could hope to find room inside him. But it's there, filling space in that cold hole in his chest, a warm expanding sensation radiating joy inside him. 

_He loves me._

_Even now._

“Booster?” comes Hugh’s voice from the room next door. 

“Um, shit, okay.” Booster frowns, hugging the receiver closer. He exhales, grinning. “I'm sorry, I think gotta -- Okay. Ted. You’re -- You're amazing. Thank you.” _I love you, I love you, I love you._ Just like that.

 _“We’re both amazing,”_ Ted murmurs softly. _“That's why we’re a good team. Remember?”_

“Yeah,” Booster grins. “Ted, I’ll -- I’ll see you soon.”

Ted clears his throat, but there's a smile in his voice when he speaks. _"Talk to you later, auntie._ Zay gezunt."

There's a long bout of softly crackling silence until the line is disconnected, and Booster puts down the receiver in an absurdly gentle way. His body simply wants to be careful and soft and gentle right now.

That voice rings so pleasantly in his ears still, feeling so close, like he could reach out and touch Ted right at this moment, hug him, murmur again how he.... _Loves_ him. Booster's body feels like it'll explode at any moment, bursting with love that was in there all along, but wasn't set off like this before he heard and said those words, like they were waiting for the code word to start them off. Imagine the absurd amount of miles between them, erased by the most wonderful words in the world, one second to the next.

They’re in this together. Whatever this is. He even got so distracted he forgot to tell Ted that he's made up his mind, however much that mind seems to be spinning right now. That if he has to speak to the press, he'll deny it. Shrug it all off, and then they'll be safe. Together. For however much time that decision can buy them. If it's only a week, it'll still be worth it. Ted who loves him, who can say it out loud and -- oh, he needs to be alone with Ted so he can hear him say it again, no precautions, no code. No aunt Freida.

“Uh, Booster,” Hugh calls over from the next room.

“Yeah, sorry!" Booster can't help but grin to himself. "I’m done with the phone. Thank you so much.”

“I think maybe this involves you.”

Booster blinks, confused, and walks over to the doorway, leaning against it, his gaze finding the small TV at the center of the room. The screen shows Praxis, surrounded by microphones and eager, frantic reporters. Praxis grins wide, waves, and slips through what Booster realizes is the front door to the Conglomerate HQ, away from the cameras. The shot stays on the closed glass door.

Booster makes a face. “So what did that asshole have to say this time?”

“That's the thing. You just missed it, he, uh --” Hugh looks up at him from the couch, a clear shadow of worry tensing his brow, and that expression on this calm, polite Australian makes something grow icy cold inside Booster. “Basically... he said due to the interest, at midnight he wants to reveal the names of the people involved.”

* * *

**11:21 PM**

He can see them the moment he nears Conglomerate HQ. A sea of reporters crammed around the front door, setting up cameras, testing the light, finding angles for later. Booster sends a grateful thought to Security who seems to have managed to keep them out of the building, at least. 

There’s a series of flashes of lights from below as Booster lands on the roof, and he wonders if those pictures will grace the front pages tomorrow. _BOOSTER GOLD CONFIRMED A QUEER._

 _Stupid, Booster._ Thinking a crisis could be averted this easily. And so naive too, thinking Praxis had already done his worst. Just when Booster thought he'd figured out exactly how cruel and petty Praxis could be, reducing Booster's future to a single choice, he had to be infinitely worse and take even that one choice away from him.

His mouth feels dry as he makes his way down the stairs, to the executive floor. He doesn’t know whether it’s Claire or Praxis he hopes to find first. Doesn’t know what he’ll do to Praxis if he does.

As Booster turns a corner he all but runs into Echo, leaning against the wall, hugging herself in her oversized sweater. It's a day for colliding into people, apparently.

“Booster, uh -- You heard? What he plans to do?” There’s no anger in her wavering voice, only anxiety and sorrow. She doesn't look up.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, too wound up to talk. He needs to find Claire before time runs out. Claire who never called. Claire who seems perfectly content abandoning him. He nudges Echo aside and hurries on, but four steps away from her he feels himself stop, like his body is drawn to her unexpected misery. “Echo.” He turns and studies her, confused. “Why are _you_ upset? This has nothing to do with you.”

She sniffs, roughly wiping her cheek with her hand. When she looks up, smirking, her brown eyes are brimming with tears. “That's what you think.”

“What?”

She swallows. “Because it’s -- It’s _me.”_

“Who?”

She looks away, frowning at the floor. “The -- The one he talked about. The one with a..." She hesitates, blinking away tears. "Son.” 

“What? You mean you --” Booster pulls his fingers through his hair, taken aback. “Echo, I had no idea.” Catching himself, he smiles weakly. “Yeah, I guess that was the point, wasn’t it?”

“I really was planning to tell you. You and Claire. But, uh-- " She smirks, looking up at him. "I didn't think this would -- You remember my baby brother Jeremy?”

“Uh, yeah. Cute kid,” Booster mutters, vaguely recalling months back, a shy five year old clinging to Echo’s hand, eyes wide with wonder as she showed him around the Conglomerate HQ.

“Well, I guess you get the picture,” she sniffs, tossing her short brown hair back. “Jeremy’s not my brother. Me and the... the dad were already through when I realized, and I -- " She clears her throat, meeting his gaze with a guarded expression. "Look, I was still a teenager.”

“Of course,” Booster murmurs gently, wanting to be supportive but unsure what to say. 

“So my mom and I decided -- Well." She pulls nervously at the bottom edge of her sweater. "He doesn't know. Nobody knows. And then my music career started taking off, and my manager let me know that this, uh, this couldn't ever..."

Booster looks at her, out of his depth but still a flush of sympathy warming his chest. So many things the public doesn't want to know. So many things you're supposed to hide forever. "But who knows about it?"

"Nobody except me, my parents and my manager. And Praxis, obviously," she snorts, making a face. "But I just -- I don’t want Jeremy to know. Especially like this." She looks up at him, frowning. "Not yet. Not until he’s older. This was never his issue to deal with. And I really don't need the world pointing fingers at me and my choices right now, either."

Booster looks at her, a surge of guilt in him realizing that this was never just about him. He's not the only person who's been scared out of his mind today, imagining the scandals, the public humiliation. "Echo --"

"And if Praxis tells everybody, I don't even know how I'll --” Her voice breaks, and she looks down as folds and refolds her hands.

“We'll find Claire,” Booster tells her in the most encouraging tone he can muster, squeezing her shoulder.

Echo takes an uneven breath. "And what do you think Claire is gonna be able to do?" The frustration is evident in her voice, but Booster can tell it isn't really directed at him.

"She'll -- I --" He raises a hand, wiping it across his face. _What am I even hoping for?_ Sighing, he continues lower; "I don't know." He glances down the hallway. "I don't know, but right now it's all I've got."

He only needs to know if Claire has a plan or not. He needs something, anything concrete, and then he'll know if it's something he wants to do or -- if it's all up to him. He keeps hoping _something_ will come to him, a bright lightening strike of an idea in his head the moment he knows whether Claire is taking this seriously or not.

Echo looks at him, unconvinced.

“We all know this isn't how... this can go down," Booster tells her in a quiet, strained voice. "This can't happen like this. So first we'll go to Claire and see --”

“You go on ahead,” Echo smiles weakly. “I just... Need a moment.”

He looks at her for a moment, but she nods and makes a gesture for him to continue, so he hurries on, feeling time running out. Slipping between his fingers. His footfalls are softened but not silent on the carpet, an emboldening quick rhythm down the corridor, urging him on, making it impossible to stop or hesitate until he knows. Until he finds out what the plan is, or isn't.

Fucking Praxis. Their own _team mate_ doing this to them, callously selling them out to the public, airing all their dirty (No! Not even dirty) laundry. They've faced supervillains, they've faced warlords and torturers and monsters, but in the end it's gonna be Jason Praxis, cop superhero, that destroys the team from within.

The door to Claire's office swings open just as he rounds the corner, and Praxis, tall and massive in his trench coat, steps out.

“You piece of _shit,”_ Booster sneers, the words tumbling out of him before he’s had time to think. “Do you have any idea what you're doing?”

“A better idea than you, Gold,” Praxis smirks, looking down at him as Booster approaches.

"Oh yeah?"

Praxis gives Booster a look he'd otherwise give to the smear of an insect on his motorcycle helmet. “I'm just following my conscience here. Or do you think it’s okay that people calling themselves heroes lie through their teeth every day at people they've sworn to protect?”

Booster has quickly closed the distance, standing right in front of Praxis with hands squeezed into fists, his legs tensing as if he’ll jump into a fight at any moment. He thinks about the reporters outside, waiting for the big statement in mere minutes. “Fuck you. Getting decent heroes fired and shunned, you think that’ll help the people out there?”

“There’s nothing decent about you, Gold, and the things you do,” Praxis sneers down at him. “If you wanna continue working as an ex-con and a fag, that’s on you. I’m just letting people know what you are.”

Booster swings a fist, his body on fire with furious energy, but Praxis has already raised a massive hand, catching him by the wrist.

“You really think you’re going to catch a telepath by surprise?” Praxis laughs coldly. “Though I guess I should have let you land that sissy punch,” he says, squeezing Booster’s wrist hard in that massive grip, making Booster clench his teeth, refusing to make a sound. “The press would love me coming out there with a black eye after everything else today. There's a news angle for you.”

Booster pants through clenched teeth, raising his free hand, pointing his wrist blaster directly at at Praxis' face. He could melt Praxis' eyes right in their sockets in a fraction of a second, just like that, with less energy than it takes to blink. And it could all be over. He thinks it, knowing Praxis can read his mind, and he wonders if Praxis would be able to react in time.

Praxis grins in response, not a glimmer of fear or doubt on his face.

Booster finally exclaims wordlessly, wrenching his hand free from his grasp. “You know what, Praxis?” he hisses, standing up as tall as he can, easily a head shorter than the former policeman in front of him. “Here's a thought. Since you’ve been digging around in my head, you must have seen what my own era is like.” Booster grins defiantly, if a little wildly. “And it -- it might not be perfect, but people like you? They’re _gone.”_ He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, eyes fixed on Praxis’. “Your.... _opinions,_ they will go extinct. _You_ will go fucking extinct and people like me won’t even remember you, and you know that’s a fact, because --” Booster taps his own temple with two gloved fingers. “Because the proof is right here.”

Praxis glares down at him, disdain curling his lip. Then he snorts, turning to look down the corridor. “Whatever, Gold. I don’t have time for your little puffed-up speeches, I have more important places to be.” He shoves Booster sharply aside, making his way towards the stairs.

Booster sucks in air, his momentary cool giving way to panic once more, at the thought of the reporters down there, waiting for Praxis' big reveal. Every thought of stopping him countered by the fact that Praxis will be able to tell exactly how he plans to stop him. What options are there? Buy his silence? Like that'll be guarantee anything. Booster ponders blasting the stairs, trapping them all on this floor. Yeah, the press'll love that one. God, there are no options. “Praxis?” Booster calls after him, adrenaline heating his skin. “I've never said this to anyone meaning it more than I -- I do right now: _Fuck. You.”_

Praxis raises his hand in a dismissive salute without looking back, stepping through the door to the stairs. Once the heavy steel door closes Booster lowers his shoulders, panting. 

_Did that make you feel better, Booster-boy?_

Yes. Yes it did. For all the good it did.

He pulls both hands through his hair, taking two seconds trying to calm himself, and then he pushes the door open into Claire’s office.

He finds her at her desk, phone propped up against her shoulder, scribbling furiously on a notepad. “Okay, but who owns Glariom Holdings?" she says, frustrated, into the receiver. "Is that the same as the... Let's see, the South African company that held the stocks in --”

“Claire,” Booster intones, something sinking inside him. _This_ is what she's been doing all day?

She looks at him, a uncommonly wide-eyed, and holds up a finger to tell him to wait. “Okay, so it _is_ the same?” She sighs, rubbing her forehead in thought. “So that means -- What does it mean?”

“Claire!” Booster exclaims, frustrated. “Time’s running out here! I _need_ to talk to you.”

“Just a second,” she murmurs into the phone, then covers the mouthpiece and looks at Booster. “It's being handled, Booster. Just two more minutes, I promise.”

“We don’t have two more minutes!” Booster feels like he could burst with worry and disapointment. This isn't anything like he imagined it would be.

 _“Booster,”_ Claire tells him quietly, her strictest no-nonsense voice. She gestures at the phone in her hand. “This is me helping you right now.”

“I don’t see how you --” Booster begins, but Claire holds up her hand, the look in her eyes telling him it's no use arguing. He glances at the clock on the wall. Four minutes to midnight, four minutes until his world falls apart. 

“Okay, but where does that money come from?” Claire asks into the phone. “Someone must be paying for that, is there a board of directors, or an attorney or executive or -- anything?”

Booster groans, stepping up to Claire's panoramic window, looking down at the crowd of reporters. He's finally here, and no plan coming to him. No lightning bolt of inspiration. Just panic and worry, and Claire, unwilling to talk to him, as he looks from afar at everything he's ever achieved crumbling in his hands. He heaves for air, pressing his forehead to the cold glass and looking down at the venue where it'll all end.

Jesus. He can't just stand here! He needs to get down there and --

 _"Don't._ Don't you dare," Claire hisses from her desk. "Booster, you're gonna ruin the whole thing if you make a mess down there. Just _stay._ Trust me."

Booster makes a sharp noise of frustration. What solution is gonna come out of this fancy office when it's out there everything is gonna go down? It's alright for Claire, she can switch out half the superheroes on the roster and probably still receive the same financial backing. His and Reverb's and Echo's lives might just be a blip on her bottom line.

Miserably, Booster raises his hands to his face, trailing tense fingers down his cheeks. He could explode from the electric charge in his limbs. Man, he should have tried to fight Praxis, should have tried again to punch him. It wouldn't have worked, but at least he'd use up a bit of adrenaline. He whimpers and finds the remote control on Claire’s desk with trembling hands, and turns on the gigantic TV on the wall opposite from where she’s sitting. 

“...Waiting for the man of the hour, if not the day,” the reporter announces looking into the camera, the thick glass door of the Conglomerate building behind him. In the background you can hear a multitude of other reporters talking alongside him, saying things along the same lines.

It's all so fucking public. Booster leans against the front of Claire’s desk, looking on with despair. Then he feels Claire whapping his hand with her pen, urging him to move off her scribbled notes. Her tense conversation on the phone doesn't pause for a moment. 

The mutter of neighboring news reporters rise in pitch, the camera veers excitedly for a moment. “Ah,” the reporter murmurs, turning towards the door. “I can see someone approaching from inside, it might be -- yes, it is! it's Praxis.”

Booster makes a strangled noise, turning towards Claire, first gesturing at the TV, then tapping the notepad in her hands to get her attention, but she waves him off.

God, it’s all happening. It’s a runaway train barreling towards his life, is career, his relationship, his everything tied to the tracks. And it bears the ugly face of Jason Praxis.

“Well, look at all this,” Praxis grins into a multitude of cameras, his voice picked up by countless microphones. “Who knew a bit of gossip could whip up this kind of attention, huh?”

There’s a cacophony of reporter voices, asking him a dozen question at the same time.

“Well, you see,” Praxis gestures to calm them down, the smug expression on his face not wavering for a second. “I know you’re dying to hear it all, and believe me you don't know half of what I could tell you, but the thing is..." He straightens his coat by the lapels. "This situation has changed. _My_ situation has changed."

Another flurry of insistent voices, dying down more quickly now as Praxis seems to want to continue. 

"You see, I’m no longer part of this sorry two-bit circus." He pauses for effect. "I’m no longer a member of the Conglomerate.”

There’s a sharp noise out of Booster as he wheels around, staring at Claire with wide eyes. Did they do it? Did they actually do it? Did they throw Praxis off the team?

His burst of elation is quickly squashed by worry and confusion. How's that gonna help? Won't he be even more eager to tell the world their secrets now he's no longer affiliated with them?

Claire gives him a strained smile in return and angles her face down, listening intently to her phone.

On the TV, Praxis raises his hands for his big announcement. “See, there’s gonna be a new team in town, and it's gonna make the likes of the Conglomerate and the Justice League look like the preschool brats they are,” Praxis’ voice booms, and he lowers his hands. “I can’t reveal the name yet, but between you and me -- You’re looking at the leader.”

The voices in the background rise to a fever pitch, one reporter shouting louder than the others: “But what about the rumors?”

Praxis pauses, the camera lights gleaming off his teeth as he stretches out the moment. And then he shrugs with practiced ease. “My new employer doesn’t want this thing to overshadow the launch of the new team,” he smirks. “So -- Out of respect for the man who’s gonna be writing my checks from now on, my lips are sealed on the matter.”

The reporters sound like they've grown rabid, but Praxis gestures dismissively with his massive hand. “See you on the front page, kids,” he grins, and steps into a waiting car. The TV cuts to a news studio where a newscaster sits in silence, frowning speechless with his gaze locked to the area beside the camera, before he jumps and clears his throat. “An unexpected development on the steps to the Conglomerate building tonight, ladies and gentlemen --”

Booster sits in silence, his body trembling. 

What the hell was that?

He exhales, realizing at that moment he’s been holding his breath for what feels like an impossibly long time, and his gasp for air comes out like a sob.

Behind him, Claire gently sets down her phone. “Booster?”

“I don’t --” he gasps, hiding his face in his hands. “Was this -- Was it planned? Was this all to drum up hype for, for this new team thing?" He twists around, looking at her. "You just bought him off with a team of his own? Have you any _idea_ \--”

“I didn’t,” she replies emphatically. “This wasn't me. I had no idea about this before he came to see me just before you did. This new team is someone else's pet project.” She gestures at her notepad. “Apparently he received the offer today."

"Today?"

"As far as I could tell from Praxis’ story, this new employer was so impressed with this --” She rolls her eyes. “Bid for honesty, he just had to reach out to him.”

“Like Conglomerate contracts are that easy to get out of,” Booster counters before he makes a face, realizing too late the implication of him being so painfully aware of that.

“I thought so too,” Claire tells him, not looking up at him. “But I was still talking to Praxis when I got a fax from a _very_ prestigious law firm, letting me know they were all but through tearing through his contract to get him out of here, so --” She flops back down in her chair. "This all seems to be legit."

“Do we, um --” Booster massages his shoulder, tight and aching from a day of worrying. _Still_ worrying. “Do we know anything about this new team?”

Claire emits a sigh of exhaustion. “Nothing.”

“And this guy -- The new employer?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Claire makes a face, her head resting against the leather. “Praxis' new boss is -- well, he's practically a ghost. Like he obviously went out of his way to stay hidden, with miles of red tape and a maze of trivial front companies to bury his tracks." She gestures at the phone. "I've been working overtime with every available office in my grasp, running them all ragged trying track him down.”

Booster swallows. “And did you?”

“Yes.”

Booster makes a noise of frustration. “So who is he?! Who's doing this?"

Claire exhales weakly. “Turns out, it's my... _darling_ ex-husband. It's Max.”

* * *

**1:03 AM**

The wind is picking up, but only slightly. Not enough to make Booster’s landing on the rooftop of the League Embassy any more complicated than it was earlier in the day. He pauses, glancing towards the steel door to the workshop, before turning around to walk the opposite way, to the front of the building and the small group of plastic lawn chairs facing the edge of the roof. Just like they did when Booster worked here.

Booster drops silently into one of them, barely acknowledging the person already seated next to him.

Max doesn’t move his gaze from the horizon of dark buildings. “I figured Claire wouldn't take too long to find me. She was always annoyingly resourceful like that.”

“She, um --” Booster begins, suddenly unsure what to say. How to even begin unraveling what's happened today. “Did -- I mean... Did you plan this all along?”

Max glances at him. “Not at all. The thought hadn’t struck me before you almost knocked me over in the corridor today.” He snorts softly. "Or yesterday, technically."

Booster makes a face. _So, what, this is revenge?_ “But, um --” Booster's body feels heavy with exhaustion. “Could you tell me what -- what your next step is? The -- the new team. Is it, um, some kind of League offshoot or what?"

"It doesn't matter," Max replies casually, prompting Booster to sit up on the edge in his chair, facing him.

"No, I mean with Praxis and --" Booster makes a noise of frustration. "What’s supposed to happen now?”

Max finally turns to look at him, a smirk playing on his mouth. “Why, not a thing.”

“What?” Booster blinks, feeling like an idiot. “No, please just tell me, Max. What’s your plan here?”

Max sighs softly, that familiar sound when people around him fail to keep up, and boy does Booster know that sigh. “Listen, Booster -- There’s not going to be a new team. Or, well, there is technically a new team but it consists solely of Mr. Praxis, and it’s going to consist of only him for the foreseeable future." He makes a gesture, palm up. "Do you understand now?”

“No," Booster murmurs, feeling the day has made him stupid. Even stupider than he usually is. "Max. _Please.”_ He sits forward in his seat. “Explain this to me like I’m five years old.”

“Fine,” Max snorts with a smile as he shifts in his seat, observing Booster with keen eyes. He gestures like he's holding the very idea he's explaining in his hands. “So: Praxis is out of the Conglomerate. He has signed a contract with _me_ \-- Or my representatives, anyway.”

Booster blinks, following Max's hands with his eyes. “Okay. And?”

Maxwell holds up his thumb and index finger, indicating something thick. “It’s a _very_ thorough contract. My legal team tells me your Conglomerate ones seem like scribbled Post-its in comparison. And in my contract there’s also a section about how I’m in total control of his public appearances and his work until the new team is launched, at which point he'll enjoy the same kind of freedom he's had in the Conglomerate, maybe even more. It's all to make the build-up to the launch as smooth as possible, of course.”

Booster looks at him, frowning, waiting for him to continue.

Max grins and steeples his fingers, pleased with himself. “But, well, it was a very impulsive decision, wasn’t it, launching a new team? Kind of silly of me. That sort of thing takes _a massive_ amount of time and effort to get off the ground, like -- Well, you should know." He gestures to Booster with an easy smile. "It was quite a process for you and Miss Montgomery to get the Conglomerate up and running, wasn’t it?”

“Um --” Booster offers, hesitantly. “Yes?”

“And I’m _very_ busy with the Justice League, you know. Extremely so.” Maxwell sits back in his chair, scanning the horizon, the dark starlit sky, the twinkling lights of the city. “So I think Mr. Praxis is going to have to be very patient and very quiet and avoid the public eye for an exceedingly long time.”

“Okay but,” Booster replies quietly, slumping bodily in his chair. His head feels light. "You, um, do know his powers, right?" He glances aside to Max. "He can just... explode your brain when he figures out what you've done."

Max squints at him. "You really think so?" He massages his neck, unimpressed. "Lucky for me he doesn't know who I am, then."

"He can read _minds._ I'm sure whatever team of lawyers you sent to him today --"

"I'm hurt you think I'm as indiscreet as that," Max interrupts him, making a face. "They don't know who I am either, obviously. You'd be surprised at how easy it is to bury your tracks in the business world. The thread I gave Claire to pull on was very intentional, you know." He gestures broadly with a hand. "To everyone else, I'm invisible. In this particular piece of business, anyway."

"And if Praxis doesn't toe the line?" Booster counters. "Like, what's stopping him from doing whatever he wants?"

Max gives him a look. "He's not a _god,_ Booster. He's just as reliant on a paycheck as you and me."

Booster makes a face, knowing Max hasn't relied on a paycheck his entire life, but he refrains from saying anything.

"And that army of lawyers I sent to his door was more than just for show. Or, well, it wasn't just to impress him. They should have given him a clue what kind of hell I can put him in if he breaks his contract." He sits back and exhales, like explaining his work to Booster has been the most exhausting thing he's done all day. _"Now_ can you have a little faith in me?"

"Ah," Booster replies quietly, trying to wrap his head around it all. "Um, sure."

They sit there in silence while sirens wail somewhere far away.

“Why'd you do it?” Booster murmurs, almost afraid to ask, like it will undo everything that has happened. The idea still so new and fragile in his mind.

Max snorts gently, resting his head against the back of his chair, looking up at the sky. “Does it matter?” He glances at Booster, then back to the stars, shrugging. “Professional jealousy, maybe? Annoyance with the press pestering me about a hero who isn’t even on my payroll anymore? Or maybe I just didn’t appreciate a man like Mr. Praxis bringing that sort of attention to the business.”

Booster interlocks his fingers, looking down at them. He clears his throat. “Thank you,” he tells him, quietly.

“You’re welcome, Booster.”

There's another stretch of silence, and Booster leans his elbows on his knees, holding up his hands and pressing them against his face. There’s something inside him that feels like it’ll finally burst, and he doesn’t know what will come spilling out. If Max is right, and this will keep Praxis busy for the foreseeable future, this still isn't over. He can't know what the consequences after today will be. What people will say or think or do. Whether the damage has already been done.

He sits there, face hidden in his hands, and lets out a shaky breath.

Then he hears Max chuckling quietly next to him.

“I thought after everything you’d look _less_ frazzled right now than you did this morning, not more.”

“Long day,” Booster replies, his voice shakier than he wants it to be. “It’s been a very, very.... _very_ long day.”

“Hm,” Max replies.

“I guess, um --” Booster lets his hands fall to his lap. “Whatever your reasons, Max, I --” He clears his throat, looking at him. “I owe you. I think I -- I really do." He blinks, gathering his courage to continue. "And I want to say, um, I’m sorry. I'm really sorry.”

Max regards him, lifting an eyebrow.

“For how I, um -- I quit the League.” He exhales, attempting a disarming smile. “I left in pretty much the worst way. Well, short of going full evil and murdering everyone, I guess.”

There’s a snort from Max.

“But I, um,” Booster continues, feeling his heart beating hard. “Definitely had my own little fit of insanity that day, and, well, I -- Ah. I didn't really think I'd -- You know. I --”

“You mean the kiss.”

“Yes,” Booster replies quickly, squirming in his seat, already feeling the heat come to his face. "Really sorry about that.”

“Well,” Max replies, flicking a bit of dirt off his blazer sleeve. “It was a bit of a surprise. Still, not the _very_ worst one I’ve had.” 

Booster laughs thinly, the embarrassment boiling inside him. “That, and the -- the stuff I said. I was confused, I guess. Again, um, a bit of insanity and probably the wrong idea about some things. I'm sorry."

“But that fit of insanity, as you say,” Max continues casually, glancing towards him. “Was quitting a part of that insanity too?”

Booster looks up at sky, frowning at the unexpected question. “Well, I --” He licks his lips. “I don’t really know.”

“Hard to tell afterwards what was insane or not in a situation like that, I suppose.” Max studies Booster, waiting for him to say something, but continues when he doesn’t. “But you’re in control of your faculties now, aren’t you? By now you know whether or not you regret it." There's an imperceptible pause. "You know if you want back.”

Booster’s gaze darts to Max’ face. He doesn’t find anything cruel or mischievous in his expression. No indication the offer is just to tease him or turn him down. Only Max’s calm face, waiting for an answer.

Back?

Back in the Justice League. The Embassy. Back working with Ted, with the others. All his old routines. Booster closes his eyes, a nervous energy tensing his body, clenching his fists to mask the subtle tremor in his hands. He wasn't prepared for an offer like this, least of all today.

Does he _want_ back? Would the others _have_ him back? What about the Conglomerate? Could he abandon them now, after everything they've been through? Wouldn't that be just the same as when he quit the League? Burning bridges again. Always burning bridges, even when he rebuilds them on old shores.

Booster lets out an uneven exhale, falling back in his chair. “I’m... not so sure about my faculties just today, Max.” He taps his temple with a finger. “I think I’ve blown at least two fuses up here today, with everything, so -- um, can I -- Can I come back to you on that?”

“Of course,” Max replies with a slight shrug, leaning back too, regarding the rooftop view.

Booster sits there with closed eyes. He can feel his heart beating, he can feel the flurry of thoughts in his mind, not just from Max' unexpected offer but from... everything. Everything today has been too much, and he's so, so tired.

He should get back home to his apartment. Fall into an empty bed and sleep and sleep and sleep, and in the morning things might even feel somewhat close to normal. 

Or, well, the journalists will almost certainly still be there, asking, wondering, guessing, but with luck there'll be a small alien invasion or a supervillain incident soon to fill the newspapers, and maybe, hopefully, every day Praxis isn’t there to stoke the flames the subject will fade away, little by little.

Weather the storm. Deny the rumors. Live to fight another day.

This time.

“So, Booster,” Max murmurs, and the sound of his voice jolts Booster out of his thought process. Max glances at him. “You’ll forgive me but -- Seeing you today, I could tell there was no chance you weren't one of the people Praxis was about to spill his dirt on.”

Booster exhales, nodding hesitantly.

“And between you and me, I think I’ve earned the right to know. So I’ll ask.”

Booster nods as bravely as he can. Tries to smile. “Go ahead.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Um... " Booster blinks, mentally knocked off balance. "What?” _Both?_

“Your...” Maxwell makes a vague hand motion. _“Offspring._ Little boy or girl?”

“No, Max. It's, it's not --”

Maxwell squints at him, annoyed. _“Please._ I know for a fact you didn’t even know condoms were a thing when you got here. You're the one who asked me why there were gum dispensers in the men's room.” He can't help but snort at Booster's embarrassed reaction to a long forgotten memory. Then his voice drops lower, confidential. “Look, I’m not judging you for not getting tied to some one-night-stand, but let’s not pretend --”

“Max!” Booster can’t but let out a high-pitched giggle. “That's not it, I --” He makes a face. “I don’t have any kids! I’m -- I’m queer.”

Max looks at him, frozen in wide-eyed disbelief. Then he sputters; “No, you’re not!”

Booster can’t help but laugh in full, the sound echoing between the buildings. “Am too! What do you want from me? I --” He makes a face. “Was my kiss that bad?”

“I mean it wasn’t _good,”_ Max replies, smoothing his hair, his gaze unfocused as he thinks. “But I mean...” He scrunches his nose. “You -- you were pretty clear on the matter when I first met you.”

 _“That’s_ what you’re basing this on?” Booster can't believe the absurdity of this conversation. He remembers a business meeting set up by his then manager Dirk. Booster, anxious and inexperienced, meeting millionaire Maxwell Lord IV for a one-of-a-kind business opportunity, a possible backdoor into the Justice League. “That's your reasoning? That I didn’t confess to a random businessman in a meeting?”

“No." Max shuffles in his seat, a slight hint of discomfort in his posture, his movements. "What I mean is you turned me down very thoroughly. Brutally, some would say.”

“Turned what down? It’s not like you --” Booster freezes, his hand still in the air, mid-gesture. He stares at Max, and it feels like the air has been knocked out of him. _“No._ Are you telling me you --”

“Quite a blow to my self-esteem, you know.” Max makes a defeated gesture, but smirks as he does it. “I mean even the straightest man with _some_ knowledge of the world would have seen what I was hinting at and turned me down gently, but _you...”_

Booster wipes his face, his mind reeling. He has no recollection of what Max could have said or what he himself, clueless, might have replied, those three years ago. He imagines if he had a perfect tape recording of that conversation he would explode from embarrassment at how absurdly clueless and innocent he was, new to a world where things that were second nature to him in his old life had to be hidden and disguised and hinted at.

What’s worse, he was so frustrated and lonely back then that if he _had_ understood what Max had offered (whatever it was that he offered)... He might even have gone along with it.

“Oh,” Booster mutters embarrassed, blinking at the night sky. “Wow. I guess, um -- It took me a while to understand how things work in this age. Especially things like... _that.”_

Max gives him a strange look. “They do it differently in the future?”

“Not that part,” Booster replies quickly, feeling like he must be dreaming, having a conversation like this. “I mean the lead-up. The.... flirting, I guess.”

And Claire's instinct that had been correct all along. How Booster apparently fit Max' tastes enough to -- well, knowing Max and his myriad of brief flings with giggly supermodels and actresses, it would probably not have entailed more than a night or two. But she _was_ right, that Max' eagerness to help him in those early days had evidently all been in the hope of getting into his pants.

The idea of that hidden agenda had made Booster so furious back when he quit, but with this unexpected confirmation...

He blinks. Max' view was that Booster had turned him down ruthlessly, and yet -- Max had still helped him, hadn't he? Lent him money and then forgiven his debt, kept his word to get him into the League, kept him on the roster when he became the manager... Hell, even cleaning duty had been a compromise to let him stay on the team. And now, today...

Max laughs softly. “And me so so sure you had a little Booster Jr. hidden away somewhere.”

“Imagine me as a dad,” Booster makes a face. “Not in a thousand years. I’d ruin that poor kid.”

"Didn't know you were so opposed to it," Max says, a short yawn escaping him. "Lots of secrets being uncovered today."

"I just know I'm sick to death of mental powers," Booster groans, hunching forward in his seat. "I should have known from day one someone like that couldn't be trusted."

"That's a bit unfair, isn't it?" Max counters quietly, his gaze resting on the horizon. "Surely this was a problem with the man, not the powers."

"Well someone who can -- I don't know -- stretch or, or communicate with ducks isn't gonna root around in my brain and ruin my life," Booster says, getting to his feet. "Some powers are just easier to do bad things with."

"If they have no self-control, sure," Max waves a dismissive hand. "A man like Praxis stumbles into being cruel because he has no self discipline. He's too lazy to be truly good and too unimaginative to be a villain."

Booster frowns down at Max, feeling light-headed. Too exhausted to follow this conversation anymore.

Max glances up at him, and seems to arrive at the same conclusion. "Anyway," his former boss sighs, smirking. "It's the guy who can talk to ducks who's gotta be creative if he wants to conquer the world. _He's_ the one you gotta watch out for."

Booster laughs, and it reminds him of a frantic month of planning and meetings and dinners in restaurants, years ago. The eccentric millionaire and the bright-eyed time-travelling hero, dreaming about conquering the Justice League. “Noted," Booster grins. "Anyway, um -- Thank you again. Max. I’m -- I don’t know what to --”

Max stretches his legs out in his seat, stifling another yawn. “You’ll think it over?” 

“Think what over?”

“My offer.” Max leans forward, casually scanning the street directly below them.

“Sure. I will.” Booster rubs his neck, glad he asked for a postponement on his answer. His head doesn’t work today. Even less these last few hours. He's about to say goodbye, when a thought occurs to him. "Look, if you're -- And I don't mean to fill my spot if it's open, but -- If you're really thinking about hiring more people to the League --"

Max sits back, looking at him.

"You could offer Tasmanian Devil an interview." Booster pulls his fingers through his hair, stepping up to the roof's edge. "Really decent guy. I'd vouch for him. I, um, think Bea and Tora would too."

There's a pause. "I'll look into it. Thanks for the tip."

“Anytime," Booster murmurs, though it hasn't exactly been "anytime" between him and Max for almost a year. He bounces on his toes, ready to take flight. "I’ll see you, Max.”

“You too,” Max replies with a smile. “You should visit more often, you know. People miss you here.”

Booster waves as he takes off, flying high into the dark skies, just above the cloud cover. He waits until the roof top is once again empty, and then he flies down along the outside of the Embassy building. Even in the dark he quickly finds the window on the second floor, and he taps on it as softly as he can.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this hasn't been completely resolved, but they've bought themselves a little more time, which, I don't know, might be a best case scenario for now. There are no easy answers, is my point.
> 
> Also I still promise Infinite Crisis is never gonna be a thing in this continuity, which means Ted doesn't die AND Max isn't gonna turn supervillain. But I mean, he's still Max. The thought HAS occurred to him.
> 
>  **[Song:](https://open.spotify.com/user/tilly_stratford/playlist/4SqomvmhyncWPEAobYUZ88?si=DNXWufsLSs29KqRywW2U9A)**  
>  Media overkill - Scorpions


End file.
